


In the Heart of the Kingdom

by alternatedoom



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arguing, Consent Issues, Dubcon Kissing, Family Dynamics, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Horn Stimulation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Sexual Content, Undressing, Warcraft Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatedoom/pseuds/alternatedoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the World of Warcraft kink meme. The prompt was: "This pairing needs more First Time stories. So Wrathion and Anduin having sex for the first time, in Stormwind, with Varian in the background pulling his hair out in a realistic fashion."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Heart of the Kingdom

"Your Majesty." Mathias Shaw's face is grave. "We've turned up a person of interest in the city. It's Wrathion, sire."

Comfortably seated in his private audience chamber, looking over a table piled with parchments, Varian's mind is still half on the updated tax measures he is considering, but that name garners his full attention in an instant. Wrathion. Varian's neutral gaze darkens and his eyes narrow. "Are you sure?" A pointless question only startled disbelief causes him to ask--he knows Mathias would be very, very sure before he would come to Varian with news of this import.

"Yes." Mathias lays some gnomish photographs before him on the table. "He's been in the city all morning. Making no real effort to disguise himself," Shaw says with a grimace. "He took a room in the Gilded Rose and has been wandering the city since, drinking in the Pig and Whistle, browsing the shops. We haven't approached him yet, obviously."

"What on earth is he doing here?"

"We simply don't know, sire." Varian has rarely seen Mathias look and sound so perturbed. Having the last black dragon prancing around Stormwind for five hours seems to have aged Mathias five years overnight. But Varian rather knows how he feels. "My agents are working to discover that as we speak. But I thought you should know at once."

Varian throws down his quill and picks up the thin stack of pictures of the dragon's human form, flipping through them. "Do we have a dungeon that can hold him?" he asks abruptly, not lifting his gaze from the gnomish photographs. Wrathion drinking, Wrathion eating some kind of meat pie, Wrathion smiling flirtatiously at a serving girl, Wrathion examining shields at one of the steel shops in the Trade District. In the last photograph, Wrathion is climbing the short steps up to the Gilded Rose and looking sideways directly into the lens of the camera, smirking as though he is well aware his likeness is being captured.

Mathias drops his eyes to the table for a moment. "The short answer is 'probably not.'" He looks at Varian searchingly. "You read the reports, sire. He may still be a whelp, but we don't know how much magic he has at his disposal. Titan magic even, perhaps. Such a prison could be constructed, but it would take several days at least and even then..." Mathias stops to rub the back of his neck, visibly troubled. "...even then, from what we know, it wouldn't be a sure thing. But I'm no expert on that."

Neither of them says what they both are thinking: what would be the cost of a confrontation? Wrathion is not even a drake, but he's no ordinary whelp, either, from what they know, and his formidable powers might still be a force to be reckoned with. A confrontation will mean almost assured loss of life. The question is, as always in military matters, how much. "Better to deal with him in some other way, then," Varian says thoughtfully.

He ponders a moment before coming to a decision. "I see little point watching and waiting if he's making no attempt whatsoever to conceal his presence here." He jabs his finger at the last photograph, the one where the dragon is smirking at the gnomish lens. "This is him announcing himself. Approach him and inquire as to whether he wants an audience. Then we can set about finding out what the hell he's doing here and what in Azeroth he wants. The sooner we know, the sooner we can get rid of him."

"I shall make the inquiry myself."

"Very good." Varian sighs.

Shaw nods tightly and takes his noiseless leave. Varian's never known anyone who can move as silently as the members of SI:7, and their leader is a master of the art. "Your Majesty."

* * * * *

Shaw returns a mere hour later, looking even more troubled than before. 

"I took the dragon aside and questioned him. He admitted his identity straightaway, no attempt to conceal or deny it." Shaw takes a breath. "He says he's here to see Prince Anduin, when he gets around to it, and that for the moment he's enjoying the city."

Shaw staunchly withstands the furious force of King Varian Wrynn's glare, knowing it isn't truly directed at him. He continues, "He was agreeable to an audience with you, sire. He carried this. My men searched his rooms at the Rose and found nothing else." Mathias holds up a small, flat black leather knapsack. "He awaits you in the petitioners' chamber, sire."

"Seven hells," Varian swears. But this is the straightforward solution he'd wanted, he'd proposed. He jerks his chin at the bag. "All right. What's in that?"

Shaw unclasps the bag, lifting out a wooden black and white rectangle, hinged and folded into quarters. "A Pandaren game. The board, the pieces, and the bag itself have all been inspected, both physically and magically."

Varian does not recognize the board, but yes, it's obviously some kind of game. It looks like the sort of thing Anduin would like. He holds out his hand.

Shaw pauses. "Though it has been examined, I still hesitate to put it into your hands, Majesty. We don't know for sure what sort of magic Wrathion could have--"

Varian cuts him off. "Give it to me."

"Sire." Shaw hands over both bag and wooden item without further objection.

Varian drops the flat leather knapsack on the table, turning the hinged wood over in his hands and finally unfolding it into a flat board. "What is this called?"

"Xiangqi." Mathias pronounces the foreign name effortlessly. It's Mathias' business to know everything.

"It is... handsomely made," Varian says, frowning. The board is all squares and triangles, with black and white woods and a few splashes of color, fit together by an artisan with perfect smoothness. The lacquer shines with a soft luster. A thin panel divides the board into two sides. The white wood makes him recall the numerous white trees in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms in Pandaria. He idly wonders if the black and white swatches are from the same tree, and the black squares are just artfully, evenly stained, or whether they're two different woods underneath.

Why would the dragon be carrying this, and only this? Could there could be some message sealed inside the wood? Or some other object secreted within?

Varian hefts the board in his hands and gives it a shake. Nothing happens. Nothing shifts inside, changing the weight. Nothing rattles.

"In his home base in Pandaria, Wrathion played board games endlessly, it's said." _With Anduin_ , Mathias does not add.

The board is about three-quarters of an inch thick. Varian wears Shalamayne in its scabbard at his side, but he needs something more delicate to examine the wood without completely destroying the stupid thing. "Do you have a knife on you, Mathias?"

Wordlessly Mathias withdraws a sinuously curving dagger from his boot and lays the hilt in Varian's open palm.

Varian flips the board over and stabs the bottom firmly in the center. The wood splinters under the piercing poke, but the underside of the board appears to be a solid piece of wood, no hollow chamber inside, no messages, no objects. The splintery pit left is a dark gray wood beneath the stained and lacquered surface.

He jabs one additional hole on the other side of the bottom, just to be sure.

"A strange single item to carry," he says finally. Dragons. Who knew what they were thinking.

Mathias asks no questions as Varian folds the board back up.

Varian reaches back into the bag, finding by feel a smaller bag containing the game's carved pieces. He glances at them only briefly before stuffing pieces and board back into the thin knapsack. Who knows, maybe Deathwing's son does just really like board games. The world is strange.

Varian hands Mathias his dagger back and sits brooding for a moment, his eyes unfocusing. He's already had enough of the Black Dragonflight to last a lifetime.

"Bring him forth, then." He rises from his gilded chair. "Clear the throne room, I want this audience to be semi-private. Might as well get it over with."

* * * * *

Varian's mouth tightens as the dragon's son saunters into the Stormwind throne room as though he owns the place and he's on his way to a feast there. Wrathion comes to a halt about three feet further away than the petitioner's customary ten feet from the throne, as if unwilling to have to look any more directly upwards at Varian. He briskly puts his heels together, executing the most minute of bows. "Greetings, your Majesty." His voice is melodious, and though his expression is at least superficially polite, he doesn't seem particularly pleased to see the king. 

Varian feels much the same. He knows Wrathion's opinion of his choice deep underneath Orgrimmar, and he does not deign to use the title by which the dragon prince styles himself. Nor does he bow at all. "Wrathion. Might I inquire as to what you're doing in my city? In my lands?"

Varian greatly dislikes his alarmingly large red eyes. Too big, he thinks, for the face of the dragon's human guise. Varian can't decide if his eyes are too widely set or too closely set or too narrow, but there's something about them besides the color that is off-putting. And the goatee and the turban are absurd affectations.

"As I'm sure your agents have informed you, I have come to see Prince Anduin."

Varian scowls. "Why?"

Wrathion gives a silky little shrug and a smile, spreading his hands. Varian notices the gloves end in sharp points an inch longer than human fingers should be. "Your Majesty must know well the pleasure of his company. While in Pandaria, when he recuperated from his grievous injuries, we became great friends, as I believe you are aware."

Varian levels a stony stare at him. "And what assurances would we have of his safety? Since you're such great friends, I'm sure you're aware the last time he was in the extensive company of a black dragon he was nearly killed."

Wrathion lifts one gloved hand to stroke his small beard in a mockery of human puzzlement. "The last time he was extensively in the company of a black dragon, he was in my company and quite safe. I've no intention of hurting him, if his well-being is what concerns you."

Everything, everything about this little unannounced visit concerns him. Varian purses his lips. The expression, one that might convey thoughtfulness on most people, only bespeaks anger on Varian's scarred face. "Last time _you_ saw him, during a criminal act you were committing, you knocked him unconscious."

Wrathion turns indignant, and his dark eyebrows draw together swiftly and irritably. "I did not knock him unconscious. I rendered him unconscious, whilst taking exquisite pains not to hurt him, with a sleeping spell that couldn't have lasted more than fifteen minutes at most," Wrathion says, his eyes smoldering a little hotter than before. "And I performed a spell to catch him as he fell. I laid him down on that floor more gently than you ever placed him in his cradle as an infant. I would not casually risk his person and I do not appreciate the insinuation that I did."

Varian gives him a piercing look. "You are a liar. He came away from his encounter with you and Garrosh with a head injury."

Wrathion looks disturbed. "Is that so?"

"I just said that it was."

Wrathion's glowing red eyes flicker away from Varian, staring at the wall behind him as if staring through it, into the distance. He seems genuinely perturbed, and stands lost in thought for almost half a minute, as though he has forgotten Varian and his guards and few advisors that are present, as though he is standing in a room alone. Watching him, Varian wonders if perhaps he is telling the truth about Anduin. Oddly, Varian sort of believes him. But black dragons are expert liars, Varian knows that well enough. He dismisses his own moment of questioning without further contemplation and goes on.

"Regardless, it would be one charge amongst several. Attacking the crown prince's person, conspiracy with Kairozdormu, and aiding and abetting a war criminal, the greatest war criminal of our age," Varian growls, warming to his own anger. "Freeing Garrosh started an avalanche, the consequences of which you've not the faintest idea of. You ought to be in the stockade. And know that the only reason you're not is that we do not have a cell that we know capable of holding you." Stating as much is playing a card, in a way, rather than keeping that fact close to his vest, on the other hand, the threat is implicit but very much there: if we can't lock you up, we might just have to kill you.

Wrathion's smile now contains more than a trace of a smirk, though his tone remains polite. "You lack jurisdiction over me. May I see Prince Anduin now?"

Varian glowers. "I have jurisdiction over all who venture into my lands. And you may see him only if he wishes to see you." How it galls him that his son considers this sardonic, impudent troublemaker a friend. Anduin is a good boy. He should have better sense. Better taste.

"Very well. I believe my chances are good."

"You agree you will depart from my kingdom at once if he does not want to see you?"

"I should wish to hear such a sentiment from his lips."

Varian notes this request has not come accompanied by a 'please.'

Wrathion continues politely, though his courteous smile is slowly becoming more insouciant than polite. "I know you and yours would prefer he did not pass any time in my company." He gestures vaguely to the few advisors and guards to either side of the throne. "It would be only too easy, after I adjourn here, for some... seneschal, some castellan to merely claim he does not want to see me to get me to depart."

"If I wished to keep him from you, I would. Do you doubt my word?" Varian speaks with even less veiled hostility than before. That the insolent dragon would say as much, openly, to his face... it is infuriating and not to be borne.

Wrathion clasps his claw-tipped hands behind his back, his expression turning grave, his words flowery as ever. "No, your Majesty. It is not that I doubt your word, merely that I know the depth of your love for your son and the lengths to which you would go to protect him. Nor do I doubt there are many here who would do much more to earn less of your favor."

Varian grits his teeth. He is not mollified. Not at all. "Know this, 'Wrathion.' I do not want you in my kingdom, but since you are here and you do not deny committing criminal acts, a suitable cell is being constructed for you even as we speak. Who shall judge your actions if not I? Perhaps other dragons? The former Aspects?"

Wrathion lifts his chin imperiously. "No. I will not be judged by such as Alexstrasza, who condoned murder of and experimentation on my flight." He pauses. "Each of the four August Celestials gave their blessing to my work in Pandaria. My task, and my burden, are known to them."

Varian is not impressed. "We are not going back to Pandaria for another trial. I've no doubt you'd abort justice once again. Do the Celestial spirits bless everyone who trips over their shoes and stumbles into their temples?" The Celestials had made an impression on Varian, of course they had, but honestly, hearing they blessed Wrathion in his life's mission, whatever that is, is absolutely depressing. Stirring up trouble is all Varian has ever heard of him doing, and he's had the SI:7 keeping tabs on the son of Deathwing.

He notes, too, that Wrathion has not actually said he will suffer the four Pandarian spirits to judge him, only brought up their blessings. "Other dragons, then. I shall alert the former Aspects to your whereabouts here. So I suggest you leave before you're imprisoned to await a trial or shackled and led away in chains to some fate unknown."

Wrathion doesn't seem the least bit concerned. "May I have my satchel back now?"

Dragons are so damnably rude.

Varian thrusts the pack by its strap sideways without taking his eyes from Wrathion's red ones. The nearest guard hastens the few steps forward to the throne to take it, then approaches Wrathion with only the barest hint of caution in his movements. Wrathion holds out his hand and allows the guard to place the strap of the bag in his palm without breaking King Wrynn's hard stare.

In the end, though it vexes him the instant his eyes flicker away and back, Varian is the one to look away first.

Wrathion inclines his head a few inches and turns on his heel both precisely and fluidly, like a dancer who's practiced a step. A pair of guards escort him from the throne room. Varian considers calling Anduin to him, but he knows very well Anduin is going to be only too pleased to see the black dragon again. It irks the king, but Anduin will learn to choose better companions in his own time. Varian knows he cannot do it for him. He still thinks of Anduin as a boy, sometimes, but Anduin is a man, and he can make his own decisions. Varian sighs.

He motions over two of his guards. "See that my son does not host his visitor in his private chambers," he says quietly. The two guards exchange glances, bow acknowledgement and go out. He turns to Mathias, who had silently emerged from the shadows after Wrathion had turned to go. "Do not alert the former Aspects yet that he's here. They should know he's come out of hiding, eventually, but we will not risk any sort of large-scale draconic confrontation in our streets. I don't want any civilian casualties." Varian lifts his eyes to Mathias. "I will contact Jaina at once and request her help with a cell for him in case we do need one. But in the meantime, I don't want him dragging Anduin into any of his wild plots. I want them watched, and I want to know what he's really here for. Find out, Mathias. Go now."

* * * * *

"Wrathion is _here_?" Anduin's face makes no secret of his delight. 

The guard nods.

"Show him in," Anduin says at once. He'd just been thinking about Wrathion a few minutes before.

Seeing Wrathion again, after two long years, is perhaps the last thing Anduin could have expected out of the afternoon. He's spent the day sitting in his study in his chambers, alternately reading and murmuring prayers to the Light to instill healing energy into his leg. Anduin has long since abandoned his cane, but the mid-autumn rainy season has been making his leg ache more deeply than usual. He begged off the afternoon in the throne room hearing petitioners with his father not because of his leg, though, but because he simply needed some quiet time alone.

The guard seems ill at ease. "Your Majesty, your father thought it would be best if you received him, perhaps, in the atrium? Or the negotiation rooms?"

Anduin makes a face. Anyone can stroll through the atrium and hear them, and the negotiation chamber has an intricately patterned one-way mirror facing into it. "No. Here is fine. Bring him, please." It occurs to Anduin that his father must be having fits about having a black dragon in his city again.

"Your father desires you to see him in a place less private," the guard says unhappily. "Somewhere you'll be... safer?"

Anduin frowns and speaks firmly. "Tell my father he may speak to me directly about that then. I shall be right here, he can come knock on the door. My leg troubles me, and I would prefer privacy to reunite with an old friend." _That old friend who knocked you out so Garrosh Hellscream could escape justice_ , he reminds himself, but it doesn't matter. "I'll be in no danger," he adds. He hates to put any of the royal guards between him and his father, and he hates to use his knee as an excuse for anything, but to suggest meeting places where eavesdropping is obviously intended to occur is frankly insulting.

The guard nods, still unhappy, and goes out. Anduin rises and follows the guard from his study, going out to his sitting room to wait. A few minutes later the man returns with Wrathion a few paces behind him. Wrathion's carrying a flat leather bag.

Anduin climbs back to his feet, his gladness still evident on his face. Wrathion returns the smile in kind. "My dear Anduin."

"Wrathion," Anduin says. As he closes the distance between them, he isn't entirely sure if he should embrace Wrathion, but it seems fitting. Wrathion is obviously far from home. But... they don't hug. He hesitates at the last second and ends up putting out his hand, which Wrathion clasps between both his own. "You may go, thank you," Anduin says over Wrathion's shoulder to his father's guard. The man obeys, his face downcast, Anduin can't help but see.

"You look well," Anduin says. Wrathion is just as he remembers--that upright, almost military yet relaxed bearing, the dark skin, the enormous golden hoop earring, the small beard, the artfully dangling tasseled turban, the same distinctive eleven layers of clothing as always. Nothing has changed. Anduin feels a warmth in his chest.

"I am delighted to see you." Wrathion focuses intently on his face with those disarming red eyes. "I hope you bear me no ill will for the events that transpired at our last meeting."

"I haven't forgotten," Anduin says wryly, "but I'm not holding a grudge." 

Wrathion seems pleased with his response. He inclines his head briefly, not breaking Anduin's gaze.

"I'm a bit surprised though," Anduin goes on. "I thought the day I'd see you again would be for a great battle, so we could fight alongside one another. 'As brothers,' you said. Yet here you are and no battles in sight." He sticks his head out into the hall long enough to cast a glance down the corridor on either side of his door, but no one is visible.

Wrathion laughs quietly, a gratifying and familiar sound that makes Anduin's heart leap. "I decided to come early." He sets his black leather bag on the floor, leaning it against the wall.

"What brings you to Stormwind, then?" Anduin asks, closing the door and locking it, then turning back to the dragon.

"I came to see you," Wrathion answers. "What else would I be doing here?"

Anduin is startled and doesn't try to hide it, but pleasure pulls at the corners of his lips and he doesn't try to hide that either. Wrathion turns to the door, murmuring something and moving his gloved claw-tipped fingers. 

"What are you doing?" Anduin asks curiously, though he's spent enough time with Jaina to know an arcane spell when he sees one.

Wrathion outstretches his long fingers, hissing a few words in draconic as a tiny surge of magic sizzles through the air near the door, and turns back to Anduin. "Better," he says. "I would prefer we not be overheard by any gnomish listening devices."

"What's so important you've got to talk about that no one wants me to see you privately and you're worried about gnomish listen--" Anduin's question ends in a gasp as Wrathion suddenly grips both his wrists in one hand and drives him back against the wall, overpowering him without even trying. Wrathion's lithe body presses against his and there is no time or space to breathe. Anduin wants to say something but Wrathion's face is in his face, lips on his lips. Those large red eyes, scarlet whorls of mist coming off them, fill his vision, and they're blazing with lust or greed or something else, he can't tell what. He closes his eyes but he can still see the red glow through his eyelids, and Wrathion's thin, pointed tongue is in his mouth. Wrathion kisses him until he feels dizzy, and his free hand begins to wander lightly down Anduin's torso. When Wrathion finally breaks the kiss to move his lips down to Anduin's neck, Anduin turns his face away, breathing heavily. He is already hard, he realizes with some dismay. Wrathion's breath is hot, so hot, on his neck. Wrathion smells like smoke and tastes of exotic spices, like a brazier consuming well-seasoned wood. Anduin inhales his scent deeply as he tries to get his own breath back.

"Wrathion," he pants. "What--what are you doing?"

Wrathion pulls back a few inches to look at him, his eyes narrowed. Anduin has never seen those eyes so close-up before, the way they mist up with heat with their faces mere inches away. Anduin's heart is pounding fit to burst out of his chest. "I should think it would be obvious," Wrathion says lazily, and he puts his free hand on Anduin's groin. If he wasn't being held to the wall, Anduin would have jumped out of his skin.

"Wrathion!" he nearly shouts, and with an effort lowers his voice. "Can we, can we talk about this?"

"What's to talk about?"

"Please," Anduin begs, trying in vain to rotate his hands and pull out of Wrathion's grip. He's wanted Wrathion for a long time, yes, but not like this. He doesn't even know what this is. "Please, Wrathion. _Stop_. Let me go." Anduin ceases to struggle and hangs there, pinned in Wrathion's grasp with his feet barely touching the floor. He isn't going anywhere, it's clear. He could mind-scream, but he doesn't want to do that.

Wrathion blinks, a little mystified and a little annoyed. "Why should I?" 

"Because I'm saying stop!"

Wrathion doesn't release Anduin's wrists, but he appears to consider the protest. "I've come to mate with you," he says, as if it is obvious, and Anduin supposes at this point it is. "Why ask me to stop?"

"You can't just decide to mate with people." Anduin suppresses the crazed laugh that bubbles up inside him. This is insane. Taint of the Old Gods or no, Wrathion is an insane dragon toddler. "You have to make sure they want to mate with you." Anduin still feels out of breath, and talking makes it worse. His heart is still racing, and he's starting to sweat.

Wrathion just looks at him. "But I already know you want to mate with me." 

Anduin stares back, incredulously. "How can you claim to know such a -- that?"

"I have excellent hearing. Your heartbeat speeds up when we are in close proximity."

That contention is true enough. Has always been true.

Wrathion continues. "You look at me and your eyes soften. You smile at me even when you don't mean to. You look often at my lips and my body." Wrathion has been paying far, far too much attention to him. "Dragons also have a devastatingly strong olfactory sense," Wrathion adds. "So I can quite literally smell it all over you." Wrathion's eyes flicker over him as though he is smelling it on Anduin right then, and for all Anduin knows, he is. Wrathion finally releases Anduin's wrists and steps back, allowing Anduin to walk away. "You've always wanted me. Are you going to deny it?"

Blushing furiously, Anduin yanks his wrists down the second Wrathion loosens his implacable grip. He stumbles as he lurches forward, away from Wrathion and that tight, hot spot against the wall by the fireplace that he is never going to be able to look at the same way. He loses his balance and is starting to tumble forward when Wrathion catches him by the arm. The whole thing could not possibly be more mortifying.

"Anduin, are you well?" Wrathion straightens him, making sure he is on his feet to stay.

Anduin pulls his arm away from from Wrathion's concerned hand, not meeting his gaze, and walks back to his table a little shakily, his emotional unrest causing his slight but persistent limp to be more pronounced than usual. Wrathion watches him walk critically, noting the shortness in every other step.

"No. Look, attraction is not the same as agreement. You still have to check that the other person wants to. You can't just assume based on-- heart speed. Or any of that other stuff." Pulse, that is the word he wanted, but he is too thrown to correct himself. Anduin picks up his wine glass from the table and takes several gulps of the spirit he normally only sips. He swallows hard. "Somehow I figured you for more of a romantic." He means it to be a joke, but it comes out flatly. He'd not imagined a sexual experience with Wrathion would be so... savage. Like maybe they'd talk about it first. Agree they liked each other that way. Get consent. Hold hands. Something.

"I was attempting to honor your cultural preferences as a human man," Wrathion says, his tone reasonable, as if that is an explanation that makes sense.

"My-- _what_?"

"I've upset you," Wrathion says bemusedly.

"You think?" Anduin slumps down in his chair and covers his eyes with one hand, half embarrassed, half baffled. 

Wrathion peers at him. He appears to be calculating his misstep. "Do you desire romantic overtures? I would of course have properly courted you if you were my own kind, but I was made to understand human men prefer little in the way of romance," Wrathion says, and even after all this time, Anduin knows him well enough to hear the perplexed note in his voice. "They become suitors if they must, of course, but vastly prefer to simply couple if courting is not required. All my experience confirms it."

Anduin rubs his face with both hands. By the Light and all the gods. Wrathion. "That is true of some. Not of all. It's crass of you to assume all human men are exactly the same. I don't know how you can be so brilliant and simultaneously such an idiot." When Wrathion doesn't immediately say anything, he adds, "I hope you don't think everything you saw living in a tavern translates to normalcy."

Wrathion sits elegantly down in the chair opposite Anduin's, not evidently bothered by the reproach or the name-calling. "Are you saying you want to be courted? I have very little interest in speaking further with your father about anything, but shall I beg your favor from bended knee? With flowers and music and chocolate, as would be conventional for a human woman? Of course, there are the traditional draconic rituals, but you would be unable to participate properly in at least a third of them, and somehow it's hard to imagine you appreciating the carcass of the biggest--"

"Shhhh. I don't need courting, you flirted with me for half a year at the Tavern. Be quiet for a minute and let me think."

Wrathion looks smug, like he knew the thing about human men was right, but he stops talking.

Anduin shuts his eyes, considering, and even now trying to catch his breath. Wrathion is not wrong about any of his physical responses, and he would be lying through his teeth if he tried to deny any of it, to claim the idea of sex with Wrathion has not crossed his mind. He is seventeen years old, had been fifteen when he and Wrathion first met. Wrathion is attractive in his human guise, if visually peculiar at first, with his strange face and his red eyes. Powerful, and charismatic, intelligent and often funny, who wouldn't think of it? Anduin had nursed a rather intense crush as their friendship grew, and even after Wrathion had left his life, it was a torch he'd carried quietly. Missing Wrathion was something that had never really gone away.

And he could lose his virginity to Wrathion right here, right now. Wrathion's come to Stormwind to have sex with him. A most exciting thought. It almost knocks Anduin off his chair.

But.

Wrathion is obsessed with his plots and plans. He's always been loathe to share the innermost details of his machinations with anyone, not all the way, and while he dearly loves to flirt, he has never displayed to Anduin any sort of actual sexual interest in anyone. Not other dragons, male or female, or any other race for that matter. He's never shown much interest in anything beyond politics and war, plotting things, reading his books, chatting and arguing philosophy at length, recruiting champions for himself, uncovering secrets and unraveling ancient mysteries, and of course his games, of which Jihui with all its maneuvers is probably the least complicated.

"Why me?" he says finally, warily, opening his eyes to look at Wrathion. The son of Deathwing, the last black dragon in the world. Wrathion who has just pushed him up against a wall in his own sitting room with the intention of ravishing him then and there. Anduin's cheeks, which had finally stopped burning, start to feel hot again.

Wrathion is watching him. He shrugs as if unconcerned with the particulars of whom he wants to screw. "We're friends. I had all of my own flight killed, you know. You came to mind."

This casual statement, its unromantic nonchalance, paired with the deliberate reminder that he had the rest of his flight exterminated, makes Anduin reel a bit inside. The whole conversation is just... so weird.

His eyes go to Wrathion's dark lips. Anduin had never kissed anyone before. He'd always figured he'd kiss a girl first, possibly or probably even the girl he'll eventually marry. He's had a few particularly daring members of the Alliance come on to him during the past couple of years, as well as one blood elf of the Horde (and sometimes he thinks back and regrets turning her down) but he's always smiled and politely declined.

If Wrathion had propositioned him back in Pandaria, with actual words and not a show of bodily force, he would not have declined. Yes, he's wanted this. Even now his body wants to be back in that place where Wrathion was pressing him into the wall and kissing him like he was a feast to be eaten. He's imagined kissing Wrathion on numerous occasions, but his idle fantasies missed the reality by a mile. His stomach flip-flops again, half pleasurably. But Anduin himself is not so sure. It isn't that simple. He knows what Wrathion is capable of.

Anduin takes a deep breath. "Here's the problem. I don't trust you. I listened to you lie about thirty times a day for six months--and that's assuming that half the time you were telling the truth. I've never trusted you, in fact, I warned a number of your champions about taking you on faith, and you proved to me beyond a doubt last time we saw each other that I can never, ever trust you."

"Hmph. I know many died, but I wonder now if that's why some didn't come back." Wrathion taps his chin with one sharp black claw. "How rude of you. Is that a no then?"

"I didn't say no." Anduin can scarely believe the sound of his own voice. He knows he's not making a necessarily wise decision, but it's the decision his heart calls for, so... perhaps not completely amiss? He hedges a moment. "I 'came to mind,' you said."

"Yes." Wrathion tilts his head back to take in the molded trim around the arched ceiling.

"Please elaborate on what you mean by that."

Wrathion's red eyes return to his face. "We're friends," he repeats. "As much as I can have a friend, as I told you once. I have decided I would like to be more than friends. Specifically, I thought I might suck you off and then put my cock in you. And we might spend some time together again." He pauses to see how Anduin is taking that. Evidently he does not see on Anduin's face what he is looking for. "Mating," he supplies helpfully.

Anduin's lips have parted, his jaw dropping a centimeter before he regains control of his face. Wrathion speaking this way to him is ... new. His brain races as he considers how to respond in kind. His erection, which had been subsiding, comes back fast and in full force. He wants to adjust his garments; instead he forces himself to be still and his hands to stay down by his sides, fighting to think. It occurs to him for the twenty third time since Wrathion pushed him into the wall that Wrathion wants him. He's waited so long to hear this. He could lose his virginity tonight. Or this afternoon. Or in the next five minutes. To Wrathion. His heart is beating fast. Of course Wrathion has probably noticed. He sighs.

Wrathion is regarding him calmly. So calm.

Anduin takes a breath. "So this would be just sex, to you? You're asking if I'm down to fuck?" He's never used such vulgar language with anyone before, because he tries to be dignified and appropriate as an emissary of the kingdom, but he's heard that phrase thrown around in the seedier taverns and though it's an immature reaction, part of him wants to shock Wrathion with his words the way Wrathion has rattled him. Apparently the attempt is a failure, because Wrathion beams at him. Anduin adds, "I'm not saying I'm against the idea, just... I want to know what you ..." _what you're going to do to me_ , he almost says, and hastily corrects the course of his sentence. "...what you have in mind here."

Wrathion swings his arm to the side and taps his black claws restlessly against the side table next to his chair, leaving pinprick dents in the wood, Anduin sees. "Well, if you say yes, the rest really is just a negotiation, and no belated romantic gestures on my part will make it less so." Wrathion hesitates a moment over his next words. "In truth, I had thought of having you as my consort, however temporarily."

Anduin thinks from the way he says the last word that 'temporarily' does not mean a year, or a month, or the time it takes them to have sex. 'Temporarily' is because Wrathion is going to outlive him by many, many centuries.

Regardless, Anduin doesn't need any time to think about the consort question. He would never marry someone he explicitly didn't trust, and for dragons, taking consorts seems to be a similarly permanent arrangement, if not with the same connotations of exclusivity. Fidelity would not be on the table for him, he knows, and he doesn't know how Wrathion feels about monogamy, a much more human than draconic domestic arrangement. And he does have to get married someday, and to a woman at that. Diplomatically, all he says is, "That seems likely to cause some conflicts with my responsibilities to the kingdom."

Wrathion finally seems to have the awkwardness of the whole thing catch up with him. "I suppose it might," he admits. "But being the once and future king of Stormwind will help offset the part where you're not even a dragon."

It's too honest for Anduin to even feel insulted. They sit there a moment, regarding each other. Wrathion is indeed quite handsome in his human form, Anduin thinks. Handsome and bold and arrogant and strong and certainly a bit ridiculous. The last black dragon.

"So you would mate with me despite not trusting me?" Wrathion asks casually.

Anduin flushes, dropping his eyes. The way Wrathion uses that word, 'mate,' does things to him. "Well, there's trust and then there's trust." He sneaks a glance upwards to Wrathion's face. "I trust you not to physically hurt me. I don't trust you much farther than that. But yes, I will." Anduin can't resist adding, "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrathion thinks about that for a moment, apparently accepting the statement gracefully. "How much have you done this before?" he finally asks, pivoting his wrist and circling a claw in a gesture that encompasses both their bodies.

"Sex?" Anduin shakes his head no. "Not at all."

"Have you kissed someone before?" 

Anduin shakes his head a second time, lowering his eyes. Some might flirt, and a few have even made excitingly shocking suggestions, but no one with whom he's come in contact, not the most daring Alliance adventurer nor highly placed noble, has tried to kiss the prince of Stormwind without his permission. No one, of course, except the impatient young dragon prince sitting across from him destroying the surface of his side table with those tapping claws. "That was my first, a few minutes ago there."

"Ah. Mine too. I hope it was enjoyable." Wrathion sounds lascivious.

"It felt... a bit panicky, actually," Anduin says, because it seems like a good time to make that crystal clear.

Wrathion looks pointedly at Anduin's groin, then back up at his face. "So you enjoy being panicked. I shall make a note."

Anduin colors again. It is true that he had had a sexual response to being pressed into the wall and kissed so... relentlessly. "No, I don't. Can you maybe not pin me again? Do you have any idea how many times I've been held hostage?"

"A pity. I feel certain I am uniquely equipped to keep you feeling panicky." Wrathion is teasing him now. Anduin rolls his eyes.

"A tiny bit of control would be nice," he says. "Feeling helpless is..."

"Exciting?" Wrathion supplies.

Anduin gives him a look. "Feeling helpless is not my favorite thing."

"Truly, a shame. I rather liked pinning you," Wrathion says, sighing.

Anduin steers the subject backwards. "So I was the first person to 'come to mind', then."

"Yes, of course." Wrathion sounds impatient. "I always planned to have you. It was only a question of when." He looks at Anduin oddly. "You're seventeen. Why haven't you been lovers with anyone yet?"

Every time Anduin's cheeks have almost ceased to feel hot, every time the fluttering in his stomach has begun to settle a bit, Wrathion says something like that and begins the cycle anew. _I always planned to have you._ Anduin shifts uncomfortably in his plush chair. "I need something stronger to have this conversation," he says, pushing himself to his feet and wincing a little. His bones usually hurt when he moves, and like an old man, with forthcoming or recent rains, everything starts to ache even more, especially when he stands up or sits down. Determination not to be that old man prematurely is what keeps him climbing to his feet. He walks carefully to the liquor cabinet, actively minimizing his limp as much as possible. The luxury of strong spirits is one in which he rarely indulges, but if ever there was a time, explaining to Wrathion why he's still a virgin has got to be it.

Anduin is hyper-aware of Wrathion's eyes on him as he walks, and he pours an old Gilnean brandy with hands that have the tiniest tremor running through them. "Brandy? Something else?" 

"No, thank you."

"There were no propositions that interested me enough to go through with it," Anduin says finally. "Eventually my father will choose a bride for me. I'm not sure why he hasn't already betrothed me, to be honest. The line of succession must continue."

Anduin can feel Wrathion staring horrified at his back. "And you're going to just go along with that?" He answers his own question. "Of course you are." Wrathion's disapproval is palpable as he sighs. "What a ghastly idea."

Anduin turns around and makes his way back to his chair. "Why haven't you ...mated with anyone yet?" he asks. Wrathion is charming and charismatic enough to have had the pants off any number of the adventurers and travelers who came to the Tavern, or any number of his champions, male or female unless Anduin missed his guess, many of whom were quite attractive and powerful in their own right. And Wrathion did so love to flirt.

Wrathion is visibly stuck on the part where Anduin expects to have an arranged marriage, and the question only gets a fraction of his attention. "I was not ready," he says, frowning.

Anduin has to laugh. "Ah, of course, you were two years old and this big, but now that you're all of four and this big..." He snorts gently, moving his hands from one foot apart to about two feet. Then something occurs to him and he raises an eyebrow. "In all seriousness--are you sure you're old enough to? You're still a whelp. Whelps aren't old enough to mate... are they?"

Wrathion scowls at him. "I can mate in my human form for pleasure. By the time I reach full physical maturity in my natural body, you'll be dead." The retort is blunt and a bit annoyed, and what can Anduin say to that? He knows Wrathion is sensitive about his small size in his real body. Better not to tease him. 

Anduin moves on. "I have some other questions. About what you've been up to over the past two years."

"Oh my. _Now_ I will have a drink," Wrathion says. "Don't stand, I shall get it myself." He goes gracefully to the liquor cabinet, opening decanters and inhaling each one to determine the contents by scent. He settles on the most alcoholic spirit on the shelf, a sulfuron burnwine that Anduin personally finds near undrinkable. Wrathion pours a generous tumbler full and perches back in his chair. "Let the interrogation begin! Though to be honest, I rather thought it would be your father grilling me."

Anduin ignores his grousing. "Well, you're back from Draenor," he observes.

Wrathion stills, then smiles. "Yes." He sips a quantity of his drink that would have caused Anduin to cough and choke and swallows it smoothly, his thin tongue flickering for a second over his lips and teeth.

"We were told Garrosh killed Kairoz. Is that true?"

"I heard the same, though I wasn't there. I didn't depart with them. If so, well. Kairoz was a delightful individual, but he knew what he was getting into."

"Any regrets? Any good lessons?"

"One or two of each." Wrathion does not sound the least bit abashed, nor does he elaborate.

Anduin knows one decision Wrathion sorely repents of, at least, though they've never talked about it. He has heard much and more of his friend's legendary tantrum in the Tavern in the Mists. Enough members of the Alliance as well as the Horde had been present for a number of accounts to get around. The tale probably grew in the telling but most of them were consistent on several things: first, Wrathion had had an absolute fit, shouting, pacing ruts in the floor, talking to himself, yelling about King Wrynn to nobody in particular, smashing bottles and kegs, and breaking chairs and tables. Second, for the wee whelp he'd been, Wrathion had fairly impressive fire breathing capabilities, and third, Tong, the placid, kind, subservient innkeeper spoke his mind and put a stunned Wrathion in his place.

There were a handful of other stories--a gnome who had some bad burn scars said he'd come to the verbal defense of Anduin's father, and Wrathion threw a bench and breathed flame at him. A few claimed Wrathion had set Tong's bar on fire afterwards, but more accounts repudiated that fragment. Anduin hasn't been back to know for sure.

"Why did you help Kairoz free him?"

Wrathion suddenly stares him down like he's an annoyed archeologist who's wasted a lot of time looking at a fragment of something old and yet worthless, and Anduin shifts uncomfortably beneath the force of his cold eyes. "I should think it would be obvious. To force the Alliance and Vol'jin's Horde to work together by giving them an incredibly strong common foe, which naturally they did not because we can't have that happen, or, failing that, to create a fighting force powerful enough to defeat both and unite all banners against the Legion when it comes."

"Wouldn't the Iron Horde more or less wreck Azeroth?" Anduin ventures. "You'd rather see humans, elves, draenei, trolls, all of us slaughtered and enslaved than simply divided into two factions that can--in a time of need--work together? Even if the Iron Horde could defeat the Legion, wouldn't it burn and destroy more than it saved? It seems like a lousy idea to me."

Wrathion drains his drink without answering, his eyes distant but still cold and containing something like anger, and the silence quickly becomes too uncomfortable to Anduin. He backs off that line of questioning entirely. "Where is home, these days?" Anduin asks.

Wrathion seems to blink out of his brief bad mood, and he looks at Anduin thoughtfully. "I think it best I do not say. But speak the word, my prince, and I will take you there on my back."

Anduin looks at him with uncertainty in his eyes. Wrathion smiles enigmatically and puts his empty tumbler aside. He stands up and walks over to the northeastern window facing out over the lake and the Eastern Earthshrine.

Anduin doesn't quite know what to say to that, not only because running away with Wrathion would be an exceptionally bad idea, but also because Wrathion should probably be the size of a small pony at this point. Maybe even a large pony. But still not with wings grand and sweeping enough to carry a man-sized passenger, even a slight, slim one. Maybe Anduin's wrong. "You're big enough to carry me now?"

"It would be a tiring endeavor, but I could manage the journey, I believe. I could not fight effectively with you on my back, unfortunately. You would have to facilitate my stealing you away by slipping us out of the city unnoticed."

The fantasy is a pleasurable one. _I could just take my gryphon, then you wouldn't need to carry me_ , he almost says, but stops himself. Encouraging Wrathion in kidnapping him, or near enough as to make no difference, is decidedly not a good idea.

"When you turned up here, why didn't my father throw you into the stockade just on principle?"

"It seems I require a special prison," Wrathion says, staring out through the leaded glass. "I'm told it will take a day or so to construct. Your father also made noises about contacting the ex-Aspects to come scold me for my many misdeeds."

Anduin sits stunned a moment, then pushes himself to a standing position again. He goes to Wrathion's side, studying the dragon's profile as Wrathion continues to look out the window. Anduin follows his gaze for a moment, wondering if he's looking at the fragment of Deathwing's jaw that hangs from the frame on the shores. Anduin can't tell for certain, but no, Wrathion seems to be staring at the Earthshrine in the center of the water.

"And you're still here? Why, when the Red Dragonflight tried to kill you?" Vaguely Anduin remembers Wrathion telling him something like that during his early days in the Tavern. A lot of the memories he has from the early period of his recovery are fuzzy. And no wonder, really, because he was alternating warm yak milk laced with milk of the poppy versus roasted barley tea steeped with painkilling herbs every few hours. Looking back, it's amazing he didn't come away with an addiction of one sort or another. "Aren't you afraid they will again? How do you expect to spend time with me if my father imprisons you?"

Wrathion pats his own chest with both hands and answers the first of Anduin's questions. "Yes, it appears I am still here. That or you've begun hallucinating terribly."

Anduin feels like he's missing something vital, and he tries again. "My father has threatened to lock you up, and also call forth the dragonflight that tried to keep you prisoner and murder you when you wouldn't be, and you came to visit me anyway because despite knowing I've ... liked you almost as long as we've known each other, you have only just now decided you want to shove me against a wall and have sex with me. Why?"

"Why not?"

"Aren't you afraid of the former Aspects? What they'll do with you?"

"I think your father was bluffing about all of it and just wants me to go away. But if I say yes, I am simply petrified of what's to come, and it might even result in my tragic death, will it get you out of your clothes and into your bed faster?"

Anduin has to laugh, because Wrathion is beyond absurd. "You made me wait two and a half years. Now you're chafing at the bit because I want to talk for more than thirty seconds before you tear my clothes off?"

Wrathion unfolds an exquisitely slow smile in profile, but still doesn't look at him. "Yes."

"Do you even know how to have sex?" Anduin asks curiously.

Ah, Anduin has found a niche in the armor: Wrathion sharply turns his face sideways to look at Anduin. His eyes are narrowed, and he seems offended. "I certainly do. Do you?"

"Yeah." Anduin grins at his friend's irritation. "I do."

Wrathion pauses at Anduin's mirth and searches his face. "Are we done talking?" 

"I guess so." 

"Your sitting room is most servicable, but I have seen enough of it. Show me your sleeping chamber," Wrathion suggests, reaching out to take Anduin's hand. Anduin thinks a moment before clasping that hand in his own, curling his fingers around Wrathion's. He realizes he's never seen Wrathion without even his gloves. 

Anduin swallows.

* * * * *

They stand next to Anduin's bed, an opulent oversized furnishing that takes up most of the room. His suite is generously sized, but the actual bedroom is on the small side. Anduin used to have a child's single bed, and when his feet started hanging off, it was replaced with this enormous eight foot square state bed. Anduin's never been certain whether he was being encouraged to take a lover, or signalled that a betrothal or marriage approached, or if it is a message that even after he is wed and a father he'll still be occupying these same chambers. Or perhaps some combination of the above.

Anduin's hands go to the turban because it seems a logical place to start. Wrathion's hat always looks the same, but Anduin has no idea whether it is an actual wound length of cloth or just a fancy stylized hat. He tugs vainly at the dangling end that hides Wrathion's left ear. It doesn't budge. He tries to locate the end of the wide sash that wraps around the whole affair, if it has an end. Wrathion stands still, merely watching him and letting him investigate. Anduin concludes the whole thing is one solid piece and tries to lift it off. Yes, it is just an exotic, highly structured, quite large hat.

The first attribute that attracts his attention as he takes the turban off are the horns Wrathion conceals underneath it. They're not large, but they're more than just the beginnings of horns, perhaps five inches long on either side. The size compliments Wrathion's face, Anduin thinks, though probably they'll look just as or more handsome when they grow in more.

He starts to reach out to touch one, then stops. "May I?" he asks.

Wrathion smiles faintly at him. "Of course," he says graciously.

Anduin touches one with each hand, rubbing them between thumbs and index fingers. The horns are midnight black and ridged under his fingers, curving and strong as bone, and ending in soft points. Wrathion shivers a little when Anduin swirls his fingers in little circles around the skin of his forehead where they erupt. Anduin finds it a satisfying reaction and makes a mental note to touch them later under other conditions.

Next, and at the same time, he looks at Wrathion's hair. Strands of black hair had escaped from under the turban now and then, back in the day, but Anduin hadn't any idea how soft and thick it was. Wrathion has a lush head of wavy black hair under the hat, with the longest strands reaching to his chin. Anduin takes a handful, playing with the locks in his hand a few inches from Wrathion's scalp. 

Wrathion says nothing, but pulls off his gloves one by one. He does have one long black claw tipping each finger, Anduin observes nervously, talons perhaps an inch in length. Those claws could rip a human to shreds in mere moments, Anduin knows, and he isn't altogether sure he wants them in and around his more sensitive areas.

An autumn chill has come into his bedchamber, and he shivers as the rain patters outside. But he pulls off his sash and his belt and his tabard and his tunic, casting them to the small table beside Wrathion's headgear.

"Tell me about your necklace," Wrathion says.

Anduin had forgotten he was wearing the locket, because he always wears his mother's necklace. Wrathion's never seen it; nobody ever sees it under his clothes. He lets Wrathion run a delicate fingertip over the face of the pendant. Something about the dips and elevations of the engraving on the front of the locket calls out to be stroked, to be felt.

"It must be special to you," Wrathion says, and he drops his hand.

"It was my mother's," Anduin says, reaching up to touch it himself, as if for reassurance it's still there. He's not sure why, but he feels strange about Wrathion touching his necklace. His father had passed it on to him on a fateful Rememberance Day some years past, had looped the fine chain around Anduin's neck and fastened it himself. Anduin is not materialistic, and doesn't have much use for having a lot of things around, but the necklace is one of his most precious sentimental possessions, and it feels oddly private.

Wrathion nods as if he understands. Who knows, maybe he does. He hadn't tried to open the locket.

Wrathion looks younger and more fragile without the turban, Anduin thinks, with his thick hair and horns, hoop earring in one ear and stud piercing in the other. Seeing him without the turban is enormously strange, like the time he saw Milton, the royal librarian, after he'd shattered the monocle he always wears. Anduin had been seven years old and hadn't realized Milton had a second eye under there like everyone else. With his face unadorned as everyone else's, the man looked weird. Even as an adult, Anduin marvels at how people can look so different without their customary, everyday accessories.

Yet Anduin also feels like he's seeing a great, secret work of art. For a moment all he can feel is gratitude and even humility. He's honored to view something as beautiful, special, and precious as Wrathion without his hat. He thinks for a moment about trying to put that into words, but he decides Wrathion would probably not take it in the gravely heartfelt way Anduin would mean it. And Wrathion's ego hardly needs the stroking.

Perhaps the dragon sees the revering sentiment on Anduin's face, for he smiles.

Wrathion reaches out and touches Anduin's stomach, trailing the claws oh so delicately down his torso. He hooks one finger in the waistband of Anduin's pants and tugs gently outwards rather than down, a silent instruction. Anduin obliges, sitting on the bed to pull off his soft leather boots, then standing again to shuck his leggings and smallclothes off, and just like that he is standing there naked. Wrathion sheds his own belt and coat and tunic and shirt and sash and several other garments, for which Anduin is duly thankful, because the ensemble looks like it would be difficult for someone unfamiliar with its fastenings to deconstruct. Then again--Anduin supposes his own pile of clothes is only a little less complicated.

Wrathion smirks a little, looking at him, meeting Anduin's eyes as he removes his own pants, and then they are standing there naked together, their bodies just a couple of feet apart as they look each other over.

Wrathion's human form is long and lean, his skin brown and perfectly smooth. His cock is long, dauntingly thick, and hard. He seems entirely lacking in body hair. But Anduin's eyes quickly return to his cock. Certainly it looks desirable, but Anduin's trepidation grows as he stares. It looks very large... perhaps too large. Anduin's own cock is respectably average sized, he thinks; Wrathion's is extravagant.

"Splendid," Wrathion says, his eyes bright.

"I think you may have over-endowed yourself," Anduin says, and his mouth feels as dry as his voice sounds.

Wrathion laughs. He eyes Anduin's cock right back, with a gleam in his eye. "Nonsense. You'll love it. Let me show you." And he pushes Anduin back onto the bed and covers the prince's body with his own.

In seconds Anduin is breathless from kissing again. Wrathion sits up on top of him and strokes his nipples and Anduin realizes the claws are gone, melted away into fully human fingers, perfectly formed, tipped with normal, short black fingernails. The change is a stark reminder of who and what he's decided to sleep with. Wrathion bends to delicately nip at his neck with sharp teeth, and Anduin is left in a dazed stupor by the sheer pleasure of his touch. "You never did this with anyone before," he says weakly.

"No."

It seems terribly unfair. When Wrathion takes Anduin's cock in hand, Anduin's head lolls back. He pushes against his impending orgasm only because in the part of his mind that is still dimly thinking, he doesn't want it all to be over so soon.

"How long have you wanted to do this?" Anduin mutters. So many days and night in Pandaria they'd wasted talking and arguing and playing table games when they could have been doing _this_ instead.

"Long enough," Wrathion says, impatiently pushing his legs apart and kneeling between them.

Anduin grabs a pillow and pulls it under his head to watch Wrathion take Anduin's cock in his mouth. Wrathion's mouth is hot--deliciously so, but only just. If his mouth were any hotter, it would cease to be comfortable in a hurry. Despite the strange heat, having his dick in Wrathion's mouth feels better than anything Anduin has imagined. Well, he decides he could do without the disconcerting sight of Wrathion's extremely long, thin tongue as it wraps wetly around and around, flickering at its pointed end like a snake. Looks alarming, feels amazing. Anduin knows he isn't going to last long no matter how hard he tries. He's imagined this so many times, and it feels better than he ever dared dream.

Wrathion whispers something in draconic around the dick in his mouth and Anduin feels sudden pressure against his ass as a solid, slippery fingertip tries to push in. Instinct makes him clamp down tightly and pull his asshole inwards the fraction that it will retreat. He gasps, tensing, but the pressure does not relent.

Anduin groans, feeling the wet breach as Wrathion finally gets his finger inside and sinks it all the way in, then begins slowly fucking Anduin with it. Wrathion languidly engulfs Anduin's cock in his mouth as his lips slide all the way down to the skin of Anduin's groin. Anduin gasps, arching off the bed, bucking up into Wrathion's mouth and down into the penetration.

Wrathion pulls back from Anduin's cock, licks his lips and adds another slender finger, rotating his wrist, turning, stretching."Tell me you want me to fuck you," Wrathion says, voice rough, turning, turning his wrist.

That is all it takes. Hips involuntarily thrusting up, but with neither of them touching his cock, Anduin comes, spattering both of them. Wrathion seems surprised, withdrawing his fingers. A bit embarrassed, Anduin uses the top sheet to wipe himself off and passes a corner to Wrathion, not meeting his eyes. He came very quickly, and in a rather wanton fashion. Orgasming from a couple of fingers in his butt when his dick wasn't even being touched certainly was not how he'd imagined his first time would go, be it with man or woman.

But Wrathion doesn't seem to mind. In fact, as the surprise passes over his face, he looks smug. He draws Anduin's head up with the soft curved top of a claw under his chin, forcing his eyes up, and hey, the claws are back. Anduin realizes he is blushing again, and damn his light coloring anyway. He also feels something like fear, though Wrathion's claw is pointed down and does not prick his skin. Wrathion's thin black tongue flickers out momentarily, and he looks and sounds _hungry_. "Tell me you want me to fuck you, my prince," Wrathion says again, more growly this time. Anduin wonders how much more dragon-like he is going to get as they go on.

He pulls his legs up and back a little. "I want you to fuck me, Wrathion," he says evenly. He feels a bit silly saying the words, and his voice is not passionate, but he is already getting hard again, and outsized cock or not, yes, he is dying for Wrathion to fuck him.

Wrathion slithers up Anduin's body every bit like the reptile he is, wasting no time, lining up to Anduin's ass and starting to push in. Anduin can't help his muscles tightening again nervously. 

"Sweet Anduin, let it happen," Wrathion murmurs in almost a hiss.

He presses inside a bit faster than Anduin would have preferred. Anduin holds back his yelp of pain when the tip of Wrathion's cock gets in him, but after an inch or two he can't handle it anymore. Wrathion immediately ceases pressing inwards when Anduin cries out. Wrathion goes back to kissing him, still only partly sheathed inside him, and caressing his stomach, his thighs, the cheeks of his ass while he adjusts to being filled with cock. "I'm going to make you feel so good," Wrathion whispers in his ear.

In truth, even with the sting, Anduin already does.

After a brief time touching and licking and nipping and teasing, Wrathion presses in again, this time pulling back a bit to gauge Anduin's reactions as he does so. Anduin gasps several times, and groans, but does not cry out like that again, and eventually Wrathion is hilted in him, balls deep. Wrathion seems to be the one struggling not to come now. Anduin reaches up and fingers the soft skin around the base of one horn, and Wrathion whines high in his throat, arching his head into the touch like a cat. After a moment it becomes too much, perhaps, for he knocks Anduin's hand away and holds his hips very still.

"A bit... tingly," Wrathion manages, and after holding still for another long moment, he begins to thrust. "I've read that those who wield the Light--"

Wrathion seems unable to finish his thought. He speeds up, his thrusting becoming more urgent. He slams into Anduin all the way, and his whole body tenses as his face contorts. The sight is the most erotic thing Anduin has ever seen in his life. Wrathion puts a hand on Anduin's cock, strokes thrice, and reduces him to shaking with need in a few motions. It scares Anduin a little that Wrathion can play his body like a bard plays a harp. Anduin doesn't know whether it's because of his magic, or because he's a dragon, or simply because he's Wrathion and Anduin's body answers to him, but he can't think about it right now because he's coming again and his brain shuts off.

His orgasm ends early and in shock when the fluid that explodes into his insides is near smoldering, just this side of uncomfortable. Anduin muffles a shout. He hadn't been expecting Wrathion's orgasm to feel like near-scalding temperature liquid flooding him internally.

"Is that going to cook my insides?" he jokes after a few seconds, as the feeling starts to subside.

Wrathion's eyes remain clenched shut in pleasure, and he does not open them. "Yes, I hear Lady Jaina's become sterile," Wrathion says.

"That is not funny," Anduin complains. Wrathion smiles like he thinks it's funny and rolls to the side.

They lie in Anduin's bed afterwards for a long time. Wrathion opens his eyes and regards Anduin for a minute, warmly, but his whole body is languid, and his eyelids slip closed quickly. 

At first, Anduin is too ecstatic and too excited inside to sleep. So much has happened in the space of an hour. Less really. He watches Wrathion sleep and wishes he were awake. But he has no idea how far Wrathion has traveled to be here, and he clearly seems to need the rest. So Anduin only watches. He takes in every line of Wrathion's naked body, admires his soft brown skin and the way his messy pile of black hair spreads across the pillow in wavy strands. He examines the faint red glow emanating from under Wrathion's closed eyelids even in repose, and he lies there feeling the fluttering in his heart and stomach, wanting to touch every part of his new lover.

He's greatly missed Wrathion. It's only suddenly having Wrathion back that allows him to admit to himself how much.

Anduin eventually drowses too, and then falls deeply asleep.

* * * * *

When Anduin wakes up, the rain still patters outside the window, and his room has gone from dim to dark. Wrathion has curled up against him in his sleep, molding the front of his human guise to Anduin's back. His breathing is heavy and slow.

Anduin's cock is hard and he pulls away a tad so he can roll over. The sight that greets him is Wrathion's face in deep sleep. His mouth has fallen slightly open, drooling a little, and his dragon's tongue is lolling a couple of inches out of his mouth, moving minutely with his breath. The sight of that thin blackened tongue adds a jarring edge to Wrathion's look, but Anduin decides after a moment that it doesn't bother him. He adores everything about Wrathion.

Well, almost everything. Anduin still doesn't know how he can be with someone he doesn't trust. One day at a time, maybe. He's got nothing.

He presses his erection into Wrathion's hips. Wrathion is half-hard even as he sleeps, and when Anduin takes both their dicks in one hand, Wrathion opens his eyes.

Anduin thrusts experimentally against Wrathion's cock, rubbing and bouncing off him. "I want to fuck you this time," he says, the first few words cracking as his voice comes back after the nap.

Wrathion blinks with sleep and makes a slow face, licking his lips and pulling his tongue in. "I don't know that I want to do that," he says doubtfully. He stretches lazily, reaching his arms up.

Anduin is insulted, because... does Wrathion think it will emasculate him? "Why not? I let you do it to me."

"Partly because I think I must insist upon being the dominant partner." Anduin starts to object once more, but Wrathion nearly purrs, reaching for him, and adds, "And partly because I am longing to do it to you again."

The possible sexual encore and/or argument is interrupted by a polite knock from the door one room over. "Prince Anduin?" It's Wyll. "Dinner is served." Anduin usually takes dinner with his father in Varian's informal dining room in his suite.

He and Wrathion look at each other. Wrathion reaches towards the door, spreading his clawed fingers wide and then snapping his hand into a fist, ending his earlier silencing spell. He nods at Anduin.

"Thank you, I'll be there in a minute." Anduin calls, and he doesn't hesitate to call after that, "Please put out another place setting." He stands quickly, glancing around for the clothes they'd cast to the table and to the floor. "You should..." Stay for dinner? Was this a good idea? "... stay for dinner."

Wrathion remains lying naked atop the bed. He raises an eyebrow. 

* * * * *

Sometimes Anduin has the worst ideas. Varian's black scowl when he sees who Anduin has impulsively invited to dinner tells Anduin everything he needs to know.

His father and Wrathion hate each other's guts, Anduin realizes with a sinking heart. Sure, he'd known what Wrathion thinks of his father, and he'd known his father's opinion of Wrathion's actions after Garrosh's trial, but to discover the depth of loathing is a thoroughly mutual and seemingly irreconcilable gulf fills him with despair. Especially because Wrathion makes an effort to be polite... sort of. 

They eat the soup course in relative silence, except for Wrathion's occasional commentary. Despite his draconic toddlerhood, Wrathion has exquisite table manners, that much can be said for him at least. He seems to know that the guest at the table should hold up half of a gracious, witty conversation, and he does so with a flourish. He whimsically compliments the vintage of the wine, asks about the farms near the castle, and remarks favorably on the spices in the potato soup. He inquires about the quantities of fuel needed to heat the keep in winter and the architectural style of the Cathedral of Light.

Varian just looks at him. The atmosphere is unspeakably awkward. Anduin says something innocuous about the wine, and tells Wrathion that there are orchards right outside the city, and that both Elwynn Forest and Westfall are full of rich farmland, and so on. But it pains him to give even these muted, abbreviated answers in the face of Varian's icy silence.

The potato soup is thick and creamy and cheesy and seasoned with tarragon, a recipe Anduin normally loves, but he simply has no appetite. His stomach knots into a ball of rotating nerves. Varian only lifts his eyes from his plate to stare down Wrathion. Anduin has some small appreciation for the fact Varian seems to be trying to keep his temper in check. The salad is served, a mix of greens, walnuts, fresh pears and Darnassian bleu cheese. Another dish he adores and yet can't bring himself to eat right now. Wrathion uses the correct silverware with each course. Varian stares at him like he can melt Wrathion's face with his eyes if only he tries hard enough. Wrathion is too polite to engage in any staring contests. Too polite, or too much enjoying Varian's silent anger. Anduin knows Wrathion too well to not think it could be the latter. The main course is sauteed chicken with a tart lemon sauce. Anduin doesn't even take a bite, just cuts up a few bite-sized pieces and pushes them around his plate.

Worst dinner ever, Anduin thinks. Naturally then his mind goes to Garrosh's poisoned dinner. It could always be worse, of course... but that dinner only had Anduin as the guest, an angry Garrosh Hellscream hosting and some poisoned fish curry for one. This dinner has snarled a close familial relationship and seethes tension he could chop with an executioner's axe. Hopefully none of the food is poisoned.

"Pray excuse me a moment," Anduin says to his father and Wrathion both without looking at either one. He has vague misgivings about leaving the two alone together, but the needs of his body call, and the two don't seem likely to come to blows given Wrathion's flamboyant politeness and his father's silent frostiness. He is not about to use his father's private bathroom. Even for the crown prince that would be inappropriate. So he leaves Varian's chambers entirely, going where he usually would, walking down the hall and into one of the small adjoining rooms that hold chamber pots for guests visiting his father's rooms.

He peers at himself in the silvered mirror over the basin of fresh water afterwards as he rinses his hands and splashes water on his face. He looks stressed, and his blue eyes are tired despite, or perhaps because of the long nap. Sighing, he heads back to his father's dining room. A half-dozen steps from the heavy wooden double doors, he hears heated voices and breaks into a clumsy, painful sprint, bursting back into the room as a number of things happen in the space of seconds. Yes, it is poisoned-dinner-with-Garrosh-Hellscream worse. His father and Wrathion are both speaking at once, Varian violently, Wrathion whip-sharp. Though Varian has the louder voice and is saying more, nearly shouting about fair trials and subverting them and criminal acts and playing the Horde and Alliance off the other, it's Wrathion's words that Anduin hears more clearly.

"Your choices may have damned this world," Wrathion says, his voice dripping with contempt. "I intend to do everything in my power to protect Azeroth, and I only hope your stupidity will not prove too much to overcome."

Anduin's jaw drops.

Neither Wrathion nor his father has taken any notice of his desperately hurried return. 

Varian rises to his feet snarling before Wrathion is even done, his face red and his teeth clenching. "How dare you speak to me thus, as a guest at my table, here by my courtesy!" He has his hand on Shalamayne's hilt, Anduin observes with great alarm as Varian's hand flies to the swords pommel, loosening it in its scabbard.

"Yes, do bluster on about petty trifles of etiquette for calling you on your boneheaded decisions in the most crucial of moments." Wrathion's voice is acid. He is on his feet too, suddenly, although Anduin never sees him move. _Did he just move too fast to see?_

Varian, to his credit, shows not an ounce of fear. He draws his sword, and his eyes flash steely as the blade. "I will not stand for these insults flung at me by an arrogant miscreant in my own keep. I've killed black dragons before--ones much bigger than you. I'm not too old to do so again."

"FATHER!" Anduin flings himself into the space between Wrathion and Shalamayne, his leg crying out in pain as he lands, but aside from a sharp inward wince, he ignores it. He seldom raises his voice, and even more rarely to his father, but he does now. He puts a hand out on either side at chest level, pressing his hand into Wrathion's chest, keeping his other hand a few respectful inches away from his father's sword, but warding both away from each other. "Stop this, father, _please_."

Varian lowers his sword at once, as if he fears Wrathion might shove Anduin forward onto it.

Sneering, Wrathion begins to speak again, but Anduin silences him with a single furious look.

Varian would have snarled out some more choice words also, but Anduin glances back at his father and adds quietly, "I know he has given you grave insult, and I apologize for him. He does not think as we do about war and peace, and his courtesy is greatly lacking." He takes a breath, steeling himself to finish. "But if he leaves now, I will be leaving with him. By _whichever_ door he goes." His eyes flicker down to his father's sword and back to Varian's face.

As is so often the case with his father, Varian's rage vanishes in an instant, replaced by an expression that's subtler and more difficult to interpret. He stares at Anduin long enough for Anduin to get uncomfortable, narrowing his eyes at his son. 

Finally Varian refocuses on Wrathion. "My son reminds me of my honor. If I had your manners or your morals, dragon, I would cut your head off at my own table. And I would be bereft of honor, like you, like all in your lineage," he spits. "Long has your dragonflight plagued my family and my city." He gives a brief shake of his head, sheathes Shalamayne and gestures his nearby steward forward. Anduin realizes suddenly that the six guards in the hall around them are on their feet with their weapons drawn and a step or two from their normal positions, ready to plunge into an epic battle to defend their king against the dragon at his dinner table. Glancing at the faces of the guards he knows so well, every nerve looks frayed. Normally the dinner hour with the king and the prince is one of the quietest possible shifts of guard duty, second only to keeping watch on their sleeping chambers at night.

Varian turns back to Anduin and says with tightly restrained fury, "I could lock you up and have him taken away by Alexstrasza to whatever end she wills. I still might. You will attend me in one hour in my audience chamber." Turning to his steward, he says, "For now - Prince Wrathion will be our guest in the keep. Find him suitable accommodations." And he turns and stalks out, leaving Anduin, Wrathion, his steward, and a half dozen guards looking after him.

"That went well," Wrathion says, seemingly unruffled. Anduin stares at him, because it sounds like Wrathion means it. 

The steward, Arnor, recovers promptly and with the grace expected of someone in his position, and he bows to them both. "May I show you to your quarters, Prince Wrathion?"

* * * * *

Wrathion's suite is on the far side of the castle keep from his own, Anduin notes wryly. Still, the chambers are light and airy, if not so lavish as Anduin's own, with a small sitting room, ornate fireplace, dining nook, and a comfortable bedchamber. Anduin had played all over the keep as a child, including within the spare rooms, and he's discovered plenty of secret passageways over the years. This room has no secret passages that he knows of, but he is quite certain the mirror in the sitting room is one-way, and possibly the one in the bedroom as well. There's also a portrait over the fireplace that looks suspicious to him.

Wrathion seats himself in one of the chairs, seemingly to reflect on his confrontation with the king. Anduin has some choice words he wishes to say, but he doesn't want to converse in front of an audience, so he bends to whisper into Wrathion's ear. "This room has no privacy. Let's go back to my room."

Wrathion looks up at him as if Anduin is drawing him out of another world, but then he collects himself and stands. "As you wish," he says quietly.

Anduin's anger only grows as they walk, and it's a good five minute walk from one side of the keep to the other. He feels the eyes on them the whole way back, and his leg starts to ache again. When they reach Anduin's chambers, Anduin closes the door and rounds on Wrathion. "What is wrong with you?" he demands furiously. "What did you say to him? How did that start? I was only gone two minutes!"

"More like four really."

"What did -- you know, it doesn't even matter. I should have known better than to let the two of you alone for thirty seconds. He has anger management issues and you have zero self-control!"

Wrathion makes a face. "I was perfectly polite earlier in his throne room. I made one tiny semi-related comment and then he just had to push."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he changes his mind and has your 'suitable accommodations' changed to the dungeons, whether they can hold you or not, just so he has an excuse to kill you when you leave them," Anduin fumes. 

"I'd like to see him try," Wrathion says, visibly annoyed. "I am not answerable to the King of Stormwind or the leader of the Alliance. Why is that idiot still bent out of shape about Garrosh Hellscream? It's been years! If anyone should still be aggravated by the way things turned out with that debacle in Orgrimmar, it's me."

Disapproval tightens Anduin's mouth, and he draws back. "Kindly refrain from insulting my father to my face," he says.

Wrathion glowers.

"You know perfectly well I'd have done the same thing he did. Chosen not to dismantle the Horde, I mean. Chosen not to execute Garrosh."

Wrathion's glare softens a little for no apparent reason. One side of his dark lips twist up, and his voice turns teasing again and a little indulgent. "You're still young. You've time to learn better."

Wrathion's smile and that teasing tone are as much an apology as the dragon is going to offer, but Anduin remains cold and serious. "I will seek peace with them someday, yes. But dismantle the Horde forcibly, no. I believe my father's choice showed great wisdom. So when you insult my father based on that single, really good decision, that I'm proud of him for, you insult me. So cut it out."

Wrathion appears to think about that.

Anduin steadies himself against the door frame, and says with quiet anger, "Wrathion, do you not realize what an awkward position you've put me in? Personally? You've probably singlehandedly set my relationship with my father back years. I've visited him in there, but he's never summoned me to his private audience chamber before." When they talk outside of the dinner hour, even when it's to give him a dressing-down, it's normally in Varian's study. Or wherever Varian happens to find him after he's snuck out without his guards. Anduin's heart hurts. For too long he and his father had not been close, had not been able to be close. Now that they are... to have Wrathion come between them feels like a crushing weight on his chest.

"I don't know why you care," Wrathion says blithely. "Look at me, I've done fine without parents. He deserves to be drawn and quartered for his--"

Anduin's head snaps up angrily. He is non-violent by nature, had restrained himself from violence in the face of a taunting Garrosh Hellscream, for Light's sakes, but with Wrathion everything feels so personal. Anduin's hand shoots out, wrapping around the dragon's slim throat with a firm grasp. Anduin pushes Wrathion backwards and down onto his couch. Wrathion does not resist or stop him. His eyebrows are high and he seems surprised. Anduin speaks slowly and deliberately, his face inches from Wrathion's own. "Don't tell me what you think my father deserves. And if you ever harm him, I _will_ kill you."

Wrathion is quite still. "It is my hope I will not have to harm anyone. Least of all King Wrynn," he says, his voice pained. Anduin can feel the resonance of the words moving through his throat as he speaks, can feel his slow heartbeat and the pulse of his blood.

Anduin is about to respond when he realizes ... he doesn't think Wrathion is talking only about Anduin's father. "Really?" he says, pretty sure yet not wanting to believe it. "Are you talking about me? You're going to kill me too if you feel you need to? Just like that?"

Wrathion looks sad. "No. I never want to hurt you. Not ever." He pauses. "But this world must be united to face what's coming. I will stop at nothing. I have a responsibility greater and more important than my own feelings. Just as you plan to choose your duty to your kingdom over me." His mildly sorrowful expression gives way to something more calculating by his final words, and his voice grows sharper. His eyes dare Anduin to deny it or challenge this last statement.

Anduin wants to protest, but of course he can't. "Well. That's a disturbing revelation," he says finally.

Wrathion doesn't answer, just looking at him.

"I like when you're being honest with me," Anduin says, sighing. Wrathion's neck is really very nice, he thinks, a slender swan's expanse of flawless brown skin, a strangely vulnerable place in an unnaturally strong body. Like the breast or belly of an immature drake, where the scales haven't yet hardened and fused together. Anduin finds himself stroking the side of Wrathion's neck with his thumb. "You have a lot to learn about 'the lesser races' as you call us," he says. "Don't claim you don't call us that, either. I heard you talking to Kairoz."

"Go on and teach me then," Wrathion says, soft and still a little subdued, and he thrusts his hips up a little, and does that mean what Anduin thinks it does?

Anduin gropes with his free hand at Wrathion's pants, pulling first on his left side, then his right. Wrathion lifts his hips, cooperating. Anduin tugs the fabric down past Wrathion's knees to his ankles, and Wrathion manages to kick his own boots and pants off. The dragon is flexible in his human form - when Anduin nudges his legs apart, Wrathion spreads them sideways, his thighs making almost a straight line.

Anduin keeps his hand on Wrathion's throat not because it feels like power, but because there is something he wants, and because Wrathion seems to answer to his aggression in a way he doesn't answer to anything else. A current of shame runs through him, but Wrathion's smooth skin under his hands and expression of anticipation make it easy to brush away.

Anduin keeps his fingernails short and neat, so no worries there. He licks a finger before placing it between Wrathion's asscheeks, wriggling it a bit before trying to push inside. Wrathion immediately relaxes into the touch, opening himself as if by will alone under Anduin's finger, and permitting the insertion.

Anduin suddenly realizes he was wrong in thinking playful treatment is the only apology Wrathion would ever offer him. Wrathion's manipulating him. Anduin wavers for a moment but decides he doesn't care.

Wrathion's skin feels as though he is feverish without perspiration, but inside him feels hotter--so much hotter. Anduin fingers his asshole for only a minute before pulling his hand away. He finally releases Wrathion's throat in order to unfasten his belt and pull down and kick off his own boots and leggings. Disrobing that far takes longer than he wishes it did. Anduin wants nothing more at that second than to get inside the dragon. He puts some saliva on his fingers and rubs them on his cock. Wrathion remains still, not moving his head at all, just watching, as though Anduin is still holding him down.

Anduin lines up his cock and pushes forward and inward. The entry is dry and slow and the tightness makes him gasp. It's too tight, in fact, pulling on his skin. He has to pull out, bundle his foreskin forward and try again. He wants to go faster, but there's too much friction. Wrathion moans under him, loudly, and Anduin halts. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. C'mere," Wrathion mumbles, and he reaches his hand between them and wraps it around Anduin's cock on an outstroke. He says something in draconic and Anduin feels wetness from Wrathion's palm and fingers, slicking him much more efficiently than than Anduin could ever have hoped to with the one lick he'd given his finger and the hasty transfer of saliva to his cock. He'd just had no idea. The wet slipperiness makes the whole experience a thousand times as pleasurable, and Anduin sinks back in and immediately starts fucking Wrathion in the ass.

Wrathion tugs on his own cock half a dozen times, a practiced motion, Anduin notes, and delightful to watch. Wrathion still wears his turban but slices open his heavy jacket and all the layers beneath it with his claws for better access. For a person never glimpsed in public without his draping turban, fancy gloves, heavy half-brocade, half-scaled coat and at least nine other garments, Wrathion has an incongruous lack of modesty, un-selfconsciously rolling his hips, rubbing along his inner thighs, pinching his own nipples, whatever feels good. Anduin's eyes drink it in. The disparity seems incongruous but is somehow not surprising. Wrathion also makes a lot of noise, and it dawns on Anduin that he didn't see Wrathion do another silencing spell to contain all sound to the suite. Even that realization doesn't stop him, though, because fucking Wrathion feels too good to interrupt.

Anduin slams in hard and is coming in under a minute. Wrathion's ass is hotter and tighter than he could have believed, and his human form too sexy, at least to Anduin, to last in. Anduin's climax is ecstasy.

No sooner has he gone limp then Wrathion grabs him and rolls both of them over, dumping them from couch to stone floor but making sure they land with Anduin on top. Then he rolls them over again so that Anduin lies beneath him. He pulls his ass off of Anduin's cock and unceremoniously pushes Anduin's legs apart, rearranging his own legs inside Anduin's. Muttering in draconic again, he slicks his own cock before pressing into Anduin's asshole. Anduin finds the entry a little easier this time, though still not what he'd call comfortable at first. As Wrathion slowly slides home, he grips Anduin's wrists in one hand and holds them down, and then begins to move.

Anduin had asked not to be pinned again, but Wrathion is in the moment and Anduin lets him do it. The coupling is more impersonal then before--they are both still half-dressed, Anduin clad in his tabard and tunic and sash, Wrathion in the sliced-through scraps of several top layers, and the fabric gets in the way now and then as they move. Wrathion's turban is askew and hair is escaping. The lion tabard of the Alliance is bunched up over Anduin's tunic and half tucked into his sash. It's unromantic and hasty and unplanned and intense.

At some point Wrathion lets go of his wrists and props himself higher up over Anduin, leaving Anduin's hands free to roam over Wrathion's arms and chest. He realizes Wrathion is not looking at him, but seems preoccupied with, even mesmerized by, watching his cock slide in and out of Anduin's ass. The thought drifts through Anduin's mind to get his more complete attention, to draw Wrathion's eyes back up to his face, but he rather likes watching Wrathion obsess over a goal when the goal is him.

It's no more than a minute or two before Wrathion stops watching his cock disappear into Anduin and re-emerge, and once again he rapidly loses control, thrusts erratically, and comes. Anduin expects the rush of hot liquid this time. Wrathion collapses on top of him afterwards, breathing heavily against his neck. 

Despite the sex feeling physically good, Anduin is glad when the deed is done, because fucking on the stone floor makes all of his bones ache badly. Anduin has several soft carpets on the floors of his rooms, but when they'd tumbled down and rolled over they'd still missed the nearest one by a couple of feet. Having Wrathion slumped atop him on the floor just makes the discomfort worse, but Anduin likes the feeling of Wrathion on top of him anyway. The sensation and the weight and the smell of Wrathion right there... it whispers of sex and love, desire and fulfillment, all the things he's wanted, same as anyone. He could get used to it, even if it's bodily somewhat uncomfortable.

Wrathion eases out of him and off of him, and his red eyes look dimmed and sleepy.

Anduin cleans himself up with the handkerchief from his tunic pocket, blotting. One advantage of fucking with some clothes on, he supposes. He flexes the sore places where his pelvis meets his legs. His bones still pain him, but all his muscles are relaxed, and the feeling of stretching through the ache feels satisfying.

Lying half-naked on the cool stone floor next to Wrathion, Anduin feels a long moment of shame for putting his hand around Wrathion's neck and pushing him down and then initiating sex, prompted or not. He hadn't cut Wrathion's air off, but the move was still unacceptably ... well, violent. Anduin does not wish to be the sort of man who would lay hands on an intimate partner. Not ever.

He shifts on the floor, propping himself up on an elbow and resting his cheek on his hand.

"Wrathion."

"Mmm?"

"Is all... this... about trying to mold me into a different sort of man than my father is? Someone more like you? Is sleeping with me your ultimate plan for making me more malleable to your wishes?"

Wrathion is lying with his head pillowed on one arm, his face turned away from Anduin. Wrathion doesn't lift or turn his head, but his answering scoff is clear. He's slowly rubbing his flat stomach and hip with his other hand, and Anduin realizes Wrathion's rubbing their come into his skin.

It takes Anduin a second to collect himself after that realization, but he manages. "Really. Your sudden desire to be lovers has nothing to do with my standing to inherit the throne." Anduin knows he sounds as dubious as he feels.

Wrathion stirs more, though he still doesn't turn his head to look at Anduin. His voice doesn't sound like he is drowsing anymore, though. He sounds alert and awake. "My dear boy, I have always said you were too soft. It would do you good to be more like your father, in some ways."

Anduin is not deceived. "That was an artful dodge. Very nice."

Wrathion pulls off his turban and sets it aside. "You stood to inherit the throne two years ago, too. It's not like anything's changed."

Anduin thinks about that for a second. "You had other plots then. You expected my father to kill Garrosh and incorporate the Horde into the Alliance. That one obviously didn't work out. Then you helped Garrosh escape and that didn't work out the way you wanted, either. Now you're here, having not contacted me for two years, to immediately sleep with me, something you apparently knew I wanted the entire time we've known each other but only just now decided you wanted to go for. You have to admit, it raises some questions."

"You truly believe I came here to try to manipulate you rather than seek the glorious couplings we've just enjoyed."

"You were trying to manipulate me long before you decided you want to fuck me," Anduin observes. "And you always have multiple plans going on. It seems rather unlikely your interest in me is ... entirely for me." Anduin can't find it within himself to feel resentful, or even used. "Or not? Would you have me believe you're not that complex? That you couldn't possibly have multiple motives, that you couldn't possibly be fond of me and still use me?" He shakes his head. "Don't lie to me, I watched you in action for months. You came here to put a first notch in your bedpost, and insert yourself into a life that might be useful to whatever plans you've cooked up this time."

" _First notch_?" Anduin realizes belatedly that he's pissed Wrathion off. Wrathion finally rolls over and looks him in the eye, and Wrathion's eyes are blazing. "In my _bedpost_?" A thin stream of smoke issues from each of his flaring nostrils, the lines of smoke merging as they rise to the ceiling. "Anduin, that is more insulting than you know."

Anduin sighs. "I'm sorry I've offended you. But I'm not stupid. Please don't treat me like I am."

"If I wanted to be close to the leader of the Alliance and insinuate myself into his life, as you are implying, to gain control over his affairs, I could be in the guise of a beautiful woman and making passionate love to your father right this minute."

Anduin grimaces.

"Notice that I'm not," Wrathion says pointedly. "And not only because I cannot abide his company." The 'that idiot' is all over the words, if not actually spoken.

"He would never go for you, no matter how beautiful you were," Anduin says, smiling a little despite himself. He casts a hand to his forehead, rubbing tiredly. He is aware, some times more than others, of how unhealthy his fascination with Wrathion is, always has been and probably always will be. _Not fascination. Call it what it is. Love._

"You give me too little credit," Wrathion says, his eyes sly.

"He would see right through you." Anduin puts his head down next to Wrathion's and looks into his eyes. "The sad part," he says, "is that nothing you can possibly say would make me believe you."

Wrathion ignores that and grumbles, sullen but also as if he doesn't care, "And if you are to be the first and not the last, it's only because you have the lifespan of a gnat."

"Another reason you're with me and not him," Anduin says soberly.

"Please speak to me no more of being with your father sexually. It's repellent," Wrathion retorts.

"You brought it up," Anduin points out reasonably. "And I didn't say anything about control over my affairs. I said I don't want you to try to change me. I care for you, but I... I don't think I want to be who you want me to. And I want you to be with me... for me. If you want to." He swallows, because his mouth and throat feel dry. "As I want to be with you for you." He gazes at Wrathion another minute, then gathers himself and with a wince rises off the hard floor to dress.

Wrathion broods and doesn't answer, so Anduin gets a drink of water, and after a couple of minutes, changes the topic. "I find myself wondering why he didn't drag me away right afterward," he says of his father. "Why make me wait an hour to talk to him?"

Wrathion, who hasn't moved since Anduin last spoke, suddenly claws the remnants of his shirt and jacket into shreds, tossing the scraps a little way off and stretching out naked on the stone floor. The sight gives Anduin pause. "He probably wants you to think about what you did before he whaps you on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. Naughty crown prince, making disrespectful friends."

"You're going to be more respectful in the future," Anduin says sternly. "Don't even pretend you didn't provoke him on purpose. If you can't or won't show some self-restraint around him, I'm not going to come between you two again like that in the future." He pauses for a minute and stares at Wrathion to let it sink into the dragon's thick skull that he means it. But then he flashes a small smile again, a little smug this time, he can't help it. "Also, aren't we a little more than friends now?"

"Yes. But he doesn't need to know that." Wrathion turns sinuously onto his side, a better vantage point to watch Anduin put on his leggings. "Perhaps he doesn't know what he wants to say. Perhaps he wants to see if you'd take the opportunity to run off with me after he made his conciliatory gesture." Wrathion's eyes follow him as he pulls on his boots and straightens his tunic and tabard. "Fix your hair, you look like someone fucked you," he suggests. "I have a question before you go. In Garrosh's prison in Pandaria, the last time we saw each other, did you end up... hurt?"

Anduin stares at the dragon briefly before walking over to check the mirror on the wall. Yes, his hair is ruffled and unkempt. He picks up his comb and runs it through his hair several times. "You should know better than anyone, I would think." 

"I do not, it seems," Wrathion says, watching him closely.

Anduin seeks with his right hand the spot where the bump had been, though of course it's long, long gone now. The Light had healed it nicely, and quickly, but yes, it had hurt. "Is this some sort of game?" Wrathion's serious, intent focus on his face says it is not, so Anduin sighs and makes his question rhetorical. "Yes, I sustained a blow to the head. I can't imagine how that happened," he says sarcastically.

Wrathion looks disturbed. "Thank you, my prince."

Anduin wants to ask what that's about. He also wants to pull Wrathion back into his bedchamber and kiss him again, make a silent apology for the harsh words he'd felt he needed to speak, but it will all have to wait, because tonight is one night he does not want to keep his father waiting. Though he almost never uses his cane anymore these days, he considers it for a second. The rain pours outside, the air is wet and cool, he's already walked around the castle in the last hour sufficient to make his leg ache, and being fucked on a stone floor sealed the deal. He's in pain. But just as quickly he decides to leave it. He doesn't want to depend on it ever again, though he knows that if Velen is right and the pain from his once-splintered bones worsens with age, he may eventually have little choice in the matter. But until then, no. He squeezes his eyes closed, presses a hand to his knee, and murmurs an appeal to the Light, and the pain eases some.

Anduin unlocks the door and puts his hand on the doorknob. Wrathion's looking up at him expectantly. Wrathion looks immensely attractive lying around naked, Anduin thinks, every bit as comfortable, dignified and confident as when he's dressed. "Are you still going to be here when I return?"

A smirk touches Wrathion's dark lips. "Unless your father truly does intend to lock you up and do away with me. In which case I'll see you in your penitentiary tower when I come to break you out of it."

It's the second time Wrathion's expressed a desire to break him out of jail should his father follow through on a threat to imprison him. "You are just dying to rescue me from something, aren't you?" Anduin can't help but smile again. "Be patient, I'm sure I'll get kidnapped again at some point. When it happens you better be ready." Wrathion snorts in response, and Anduin hesitates another moment at the door, thinking over the things of which he believes his father capable. "Lock the door after me."

"Your concern is truly touching," a naked Wrathion says in a half-condescending tone that indicates, of course, that he does not require any such pedestrian precautions. 

* * * * *

Dread rises again in Anduin's heart as he walks back to his father's chambers. He feels a little sick contemplating the discussion they are about to have, because he does not intend to lie, but he has no idea what his father is going to ask him, and so he has an equal void when it comes to what anwers he will give.

Anduin knocks.

"Enter," his father says.

Anduin obeys, walking in and shutting the door after him. His father's inner audience chamber, located near to the royal suite, is the place where he sees his advisors and staff on matters related to the kingdom but which require somewhat more privacy or discretion than the throne room or the war room or even the council chamber. The audience chamber is set up much like a study, with books lining three walls, but unlike a study, the room has only two chairs. A narrow rolled-out red carpet leads to the center of the small room. The setup draws the eye to where a desk sits facing sideways, so that its occupant can sit in a gilded chair and turn and have nothing between him and an advisor or general who enters. Varian does conduct business and do paperwork in the chamber, but it's an ideal room for making someone stand centered, literally called to the carpet, for a private raking over the coals, and Anduin knows Varian uses it that way more often than any other of his many rooms in the keep. Anduin wonders how badly he's about to be upbraided.

"Father."

Varian pushes his chair back away from the desk as Anduin enters, turning it to face him. The chair is simple, nothing like the famously filigreed Lion Seat. Varian turns tired eyes on him. His father does not tell him to sit in the only other chair in the room, located off to the side a little, so Anduin stands. Varian does not mince words. "Anduin, why is Wrathion here?"

"He came to see me." That answer is easy, at least.

"For what reason?"

Anduin strugges for the words as his cheeks grow hot for about the sixteenth time that day. "He wanted..." Anduin trails off. _to push me against the wall and fuck me without telling me where he's been for the past two years_. He doesn't know how to finish, and his silence and blush are answer enough for the King of Stormwind. Varian's frown spreads over his whole face. Despite Wrathion's oft-repeated assertions, Varian Wrynn is no fool.

"Are you more than friends?" Varian asks it in the same quiet, dire tone he might ask, 'Did the Burning Legion take the capital?' or 'Is it true the world will soon end?' Like the words taste bitter in his mouth, and the possibilty is the most terrible thing that has ever happened in the whole history of Azeroth. 

Anduin nods silently.

"Do you love him?"

Anduin finds he cannot meet his father's eyes. "I didn't set out to. But yes."

"Are you lovers then? You've been with him?" Varian looks disgusted, like he might not want to know the answer to that question, but he asks it, so Anduin finds his courage and answers him.

"Yes."

"How long?"

Anduin shuffles his feet. It is none of his father's business...but he is the prince, and it could indeed be considered the king's. "Just earlier today," he admits. "Though I've had... feelings for him much longer."

Rage passes over his father's face and fades all in an instant. Varian covers his face with his hands and sighs, a man who's realized an egregious, calamitous error. "Anduin, he is a black. Dragon. Have you lost your mind?"

"He is free of the taint of his dragonflight," Anduin begins, but his father interrupts.

"Have you had other lovers?" Varian seems to be trying to gauge how bad it is.

"No, father."

Varian puts his hands on the arms of of his chair, grasping the carved lion emblems on either side, and looks at him. Anduin forces himself to meet his father's troubled eyes and hold his gaze. He half-expects Varian to splinter the gilded arms with the force of his iron grip. His father probably doesn't even know he's doing it.

"Anduin. Stormwind needs an heir. The duty of continuing the Wrynn line will fall to you, my son." Varian looks at him searchingly. "Are you going to forsake your birthright and your royal duty?"

Anduin shakes his head. "No. I will find a suitable bride, or marry whomever you choose." _A veto would be nice_ , he thinks, but he is not about to crack any jokes now.

"I had thought to let you choose for yourself, but now I think I had better arrange a marriage for you. Your taste is appalling. What would be next, a harpy?"

Anduin doesn't voice the words that spring to his lips - that Wrathion is it. That there would be no one he would choose after Wrathion.

Varian continues sternly. "When you marry, do you intend to be faithful to her and your marriage vows?"

"Yes." Anduin is confident that he sounds more certain than he feels.

"Will you be able to hold to that surety with this... dragon hanging around?" Varian frowns unhappily. "Black dragons are possessive, rapacious creatures. If he lives, and he still wants you, he's going to be... haunting your life, one way or another." The words have a disturbing air of prophecy, Anduin thinks. Varian stares at him.

"I won't take the vows if I don't think I can hold to them," Anduin says without thinking his answer through, but as the statement leaves his lips he knows it to be true.

"And if I announced your betrothal tomorrow, how would he react? Would he burn your intended to death? Carry you off to Light knows where? Kill you just so you can't give yourself to another?"

Anduin looks at his father apprehensively and a bit downcast. Will that be his father's plan now? Marry him off as soon as possible? "I don't know what he would do."

"I want happiness for you, Anduin, but I want you to live with honor more."

"I know."

"You know I would have preferred you take up with just about anyone else."

"I know."

Varian darkly mutters something about black dragons and Wrynns and fates being bound together. He stands effortlessly, closing the distance between them with a few steps and putting his hands on Anduin's shoulders, hands heavy with the weight of a predestined future. "You're a good boy, Anduin. You're becoming a good man. You could be a great king." He sighs heavily. "If you are planning to live up to the responsibility you were born into, I advise you to enjoy your time with him and try to prepare yourself to let him go." He looks down at Anduin grimly. "And pray he'll let you end it gracefully when the time comes. He may well not."

He repeats intensely, as if trying to impress this fact upon Anduin, "A black. Dragon. The son of Deathwing!" Varian lets the words hang in the air and adds, "He probably already thinks he owns you, body and soul." He squeezes both Anduin's shoulders for a moment to punctuate his words. His hold on Anduin wouldn't hurt someone who hadn't had seven-eighths of their bones shattered and mended, so Anduin doesn't want to say anything, but his father has monstrously strong hands, and the grip is a bit uncomfortable on his brittle skeletal structure. Anduin does appreciate how hard his father is trying to get through to him, even if the effort is misguided. Anduin does appreciate how much his father loves him.

"His parentage doesn't trouble me. Fathers don't entirely determine how their sons turn out, you know," he answers, meeting his father's eyes with a slight smile. Varian sighs at him, but not out of exasperation, Anduin knows. It's a loving, if beleaguered sound.

Anduin bows his head, thinking about how sad Wrathion looked when he said he didn't want to harm King Wrynn. "He allows me to have surprisingly few illusions about him," Anduin says finally.

Varian presses him. "So on that day, what then?"

Anduin has no answer.

"You know you're playing with fire," Varian observes when he says nothing. "Courting disaster, having him in your life." He looks at Anduin beseechingly, as if trying to tell whether his son has a single ounce of common sense.

Hilarious choices of words, Anduin thinks, but his father would not see the humor. He'll tell Wrathion later, Wrathion will appreciate the joke. He breaks his silence. "I know."

"He will take his evening meals in his quarters from now on."

Anduin is pretty sure Wrathion won't care about this stipulation. He nods understanding and acceptance.

"In fact, I want to see him as little as possible." Varian appears to be choosing his next words carefully. "And I want you to remember, Anduin, that he is an animal, however powerful he might be, however human he might seem. He is an animal and you are the crown prince of Stormwind. Do not let him make you into his pet." Varian turns and goes back to his chair. "You may go."

Anduin does not customarily bow to his father when they are alone, but he bows before he turns to leave.

"And Anduin. One more thing."

Anduin turns back. Varian is looking at him steadily.

"Rumors will fly of course, but do try to be discreet. You and he must maintain the appearance of friends, nothing more. Don't stand too close, and don't touch him in public. And see he does the same." He grimaces. "Can you control him that far?" The way his lip curls suggests he severely doubts it.

"Why must it be a secret?" Anduin objects.

He's expecting to hear that the people will not look at him with the same respect, or that Stormwind's enemies will see him as less of a man, or some such, when they already view him as soft. Those things he could argue. But Varian looks him dead in the eye and says, "Because any parent, no matter how ambitious, is going to think twice about marrying their daughter to a prince known to have a jealous lover who can burn her alive with his breath."

* * * * *

Anduin leaves his father's rooms with a lighter heart than he'd expected. He only regrets not bringing along his cane, for he'd stood a long time, and his leg bothers him badly on the return walk. He could stop and heal his knee, but he's eager to return to Wrathion. When he gets back to his chambers, he finds Wrathion fully dressed and sitting in his study in a foul temper, moving Xiangqi pieces around a board by himself.

"Your father likes ruining beautiful things, doesn't he? It's a wonder you're as well-adjusted as you are," he says, and throws the Black Crane figure across the room. Anduin looks at him in astonishment.

"What's gotten into you?" he asks, but Wrathion doesn't answer.

Anduin pulls his padded desk chair out and sits at his desk. He immediately wraps both hands around his knee, calling the Light to him and soothing his leg, feeling the muscles unclench and the pain recede. "Are you going to break things and breathe flame and yell and possibly set my rooms on fire?"

Wrathion gives him a sulky look. "That depends. What did your sainted father have to say?"

"I'm not to bring you to dinner again, and we can't touch in public. And I'm courting disaster and playing with fire."

Wrathion grins, showing his mouthful of sharp, white teeth. "Really, he said that?" Anduin knew he would find that last part funny. Wrathion shakes his head, amused at his father's humorlessness. "Is that all?"

Anduin thinks a moment. "Those were the highlights."

"Tell me the rest."

Anduin hesitates. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"He thinks you're dangerous, and going to probably ruin my life, and I have terrible taste in romantic partners, and can't control you, and nothing has changed as far as my needing to get married and provide Stormwind with heirs to come after me." Anduin gets up and goes over to the window to find and pick up the Black Crane piece so he doesn't have to look at Wrathion while he says all this. The Black Crane is beautifully carved and painted. He looks at it for a moment.

Wrathion turns thoughtful. "You know, I've been thinking about that last little problem. How about if I fix you so you can't have any children? Then you'd be off the hook for your arranged marriage."

Anduin whirls and looks at Wrathion utterly horrified, and his thighs clench together a bit involuntarily. "No. All the 'no' in the world. I do want to have children someday, and even if I didn't, that makes me want to cross my legs forever and never take my clothes off with you again." He peers more closely at the dragon. "Swear to me right now that you're kidding and only kidding."

"Oh, don't look so afraid," Wrathion says scornfully, and adds, "They say you can laugh or you can cry. Humans do have some pithy observations." 

"Don't be like my father, ruining beautiful things," Anduin quips, briefly cupping his free hand over his groin to make sure Wrathion appreciates the jest. He waits a beat, but Wrathion doesn't respond, brooding down at the game board in front of him again.

"Tell me what's eating you," Anduin says, growing serious again. "What did he do? Is it the marriage someday? I have no reason to think it'll be tomorrow. We have... a while I think." He tries teasing again. "Maybe you'll tire of me before it's time."

Wrathion doesn't answer him.

Anduin has a shrewd enough mind to enjoy guessing games, especially in present company. "Are you feeling guilty for coming here to have sex with me while simultaneously considering someday double crossing and killing me to enact your arguably dark vision of world unity?"

Wrathion waves his concern away. "Stop. I'm considering nothing of the sort. And stop overestimating your importance in the grander scheme of things."

"I don't think I can overestimate my importance in the scheme of things. I was born to rule the kingdom and lead the Alliance, you know," Anduin says lightly. 

"Hmph, I suppose you were. Truly, it's nothing of import. A momentary irritation."

"You have the most hostile 'momentary irritations' of anyone I've ever met," Anduin says. "They're more fits of pique. It's the marriage, isn't it?"

Wrathion leans back in his chair and steeples his claws. "Would you prefer I drink heavily and scream at the sky?"

"To throwing things and making disturbing jokes about castration? Yes, I would." Anduin points emphatically at the liquor cabinet. "Please, help yourself."

Wrathion doesn't answer again, so Anduin goes over to the table and sits across from him, putting the Black Crane back where it belongs. He runs a hand over the smooth triangles of the Xiangqi board, unable to see the damage on the underside. "This is a nice set. Did you want to play?"

They play Xiangqi well into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> 1\. Xiangqi is a real game, though I took liberties with it.  
> 2\. Full credit and props to the wonderful "Booty Hunters" comic by Personalami for the idea that the orifices of priests and paladins feel tingly.  
> 3\. This was my first Wranduin fic and first Warcraft fic too.  
> 4\. August 2016: Jihui, damnit.


End file.
